Murray Gould and his son Brian live about 650 miles apart, separated by busy work lives and four states.

Baseball is a bridge that covers all that and more.

Their fantasy baseball league is a place of constant trash talk. Their annual trips to ballparks are a reason to re-connect. And on Sunday, Father's Day, the 41-year-old son from Raleigh, N.C., and his father from Syracuse sat in the second deck at NBT Bank Stadium, the gap reduced to the one empty seat they left open between them.

They had a hot dog and a beer. They reminisced on all subjects. And in the rare quiet moments, the sounds of the ballpark filled the empty space, the occasional crack of the bat and clap of hands, the endless streak of goofy ballpark sound effects.

"We talk every week," Brian said, "because of baseball and sports."

Brian made the trip up for a memorial for Murray's brother-in-law on Friday. They scheduled a family reunion on Saturday, with approximately 60 people at Murray's house. After a weekend of family obligations, this was their chance. Just father and son, sharing some time and their own section of the ball park.

"Guy time," Brian called it.

They re-hashed the grilling prowess they'd displayed on Saturday and the results of the hot dog taste test the family threw together.

"We hit a home run," Murray said.

Apparently it was a much more successful endeavor than the Chiefs.

Syracuse lost 8-4 to Toledo on a grand slam in the 10th inning by outfielder Ben Guez. The loss sentenced Syracuse to a sweep in its 15th extra-inning game of the season and squandered a three-run rally in the eighth inning.

Brian Gould and father Murray, live 650 miles apart. They spent Sunday one seat apart at NBT Bank Stadium, where they spent Father's Day watching the Syracuse Chiefs.Chris Carlson | Syracuse.com

Zach Walters, who had three hits for Syracuse (27-40), tied it at 4 with a two-run double in the bottom of the eighth.

But relief pitcher Erik Davis walked the Toledo (30-41) lead-off hitter in the tenth, who was sacrificed to second. Norfolk manager Tony Beasley elected to intentionally walk Jordan Lennerton, who entered the game sixth in the International League in hitting.

Davis struck out the next batter but then walked the bases loaded. He threw a first-pitch ball to Guez, allowing him to focus on a fastball.

Murray and Brian were gone by the time Guez's blast cleared the right-field wall, continuing an afternoon of sports-based bonding by watching the final holes of the U.S. Open.

Growing up, Brian collected memorabilia with his father, an experience Murray used to impart manners.

Murray took his granddaughter to NBT Stadium recently, telling her he'd bet her $20 that she couldn't get a baseball from the Chiefs. Naturally, she succeeded.

"Ball in one hand and (motions to pay me with the other)," Murray said. "They won't throw it to me, but a cute little 11-year-old? No problem."

The family fantasy baseball league includes aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, family members from ages 8 to 70. They swap insults and trash talk. Murray is old school and won't pick any players that wear pajama-style uniforms or wear flat-brimmed hats.

"Some people need to set a standard, right buddy?" Murray needled.

Brian is less choosy.

"Who is in first place? And has been all year?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," his father responded.

The league was run by Murray's nephew, Jimmer, who died last year of pancreatic cancer. Now his kids are among the league's youngest members.

"About two weeks before he died we were talking about playing fantasy baseball with all his relatives in heaven," Murray said. "He told me 'There are going to be days when weird things happen to you. Just know that I'm messing with you.'

"I'm telling you. ... I can't tell you the number of times it's happened. He's up there laughing at me."

Father and son scan the schedule each year and try to find a few days where they can cram as many games into a short span as possible, often going to day games and night games within 24 hours in New York, Chicago or Cleveland/Pittsburgh.

Baseball is no longer America's sporting passion. That's the NFL.

And in Central New York, college basketball and college football are significantly more important.

But in a culture obsessed with packing as much action as possible into each second, baseball provides time to sit and talk, a chance to communicate and connect. And on Father's Day, there's no present better than that.

"It's cheap and it's baseball," Brian said. "We're glad to get out of the house. Drink some beer, eat some peanuts, what more could you want?"